


The Garden Of Unspoken Words.

by Discontinuous Qualia (Sechzehn)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akeshu/Shuake Secret Santa Exchange, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, hanahaki, shuake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sechzehn/pseuds/Discontinuous%20Qualia
Summary: Words are like flowers. Left by themselves they can't help but wither, but if you pour your heart into them they will surely bloom.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 146
Collections: Shuake SS Gift Exchange 2019





	The Garden Of Unspoken Words.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for @a_lenes on Twitter. I was your Secret Santa, this year and I hope you like your present!  
> The prompts were "Angst, hanahaki, or just an emotional/desperate hug." I opted for the first two but also put a little something that is indeed desperate xD
> 
> I had so much fun writing this, it's been a challenge, since I wasn't particularly familiar with Hanahaki and my angst writing capacities were a tad rusted, but I ended up writing a lot!
> 
> Merry Christmas! :)

_Azalea - Motherly love._

School trips are one of the most useless things in the world. 

If one really wanted to use their own time to expand their worldview, they could easily choose one of the many holidays during the year and plan a full-immersive trip in their selected location.

His peers say it's the atmosphere what makes a normal trip by themselves different, like there's some kind of implicit rule that states everything can happen during those few days far from school. The teachers are more lenient, students from different classes and years can meet outside the bleak classroom walls and corridors and all sorts of bonds and relationships can form. 

Goro can't help but snicker at this type of well-concocted self-suggestion that intoxicates his schoolmates every single year when they leave Tokyo and makes his work as a class representative something very akin to looking after a bunch of kindergarteners.

But Kyoto has its charm, he guesses. It possesses something that resonates with his core, with the solemnity of Tenryu Ji Temple and the smell of burning incense under the cloudy September sky. People bend their heads and lower their voices in front of the gods that may or may not be there, and their quiet whispering gets lost in the gentle yet unusually cold breeze to the point that he can hear his own thoughts with unprecedented clarity. One doesn't really have to be religious to see how this place could easily be a man-centered joint between heaven and earth, a garden of countless blots of colors absorbed in their own boring lives. 

"I beg your pardon, senpai, but your presence is preventing me from seeing those flowers."

The deep voice belongs to a face that has its peculiar fame at school, and the dull reality insinuates in his musings. An apologetic smile stretches with practiced lack of effort on his mouth. 

"Oh, sorry, Kitagawa-kun,” he says and steps aside with grace. "I was absorbed into the singular appeal of this place."

Kitagawa nods with a cryptic smile and closes his eyes. On the sketchbook on his lap dark traits of graphite form an impressive reproduction of an unfamiliar plant with star-shaped flowers and the artist's gaze rises to focus on the bush in front of them. 

"They're Azaleas,” Kitagawa discloses as if someone had just posed a question. "Their pink color and graceful shape are often associated with femininity."

He is wildly unprepared in the subject of plants, flowers and their meaning but he nods courteously nonetheless. "They're pretty, indeed, but I'm afraid I can't be of much help when it comes to flowers' language. I suggest asking to the girls in the ikebana club as they might-" 

"Azaleas stand for 'motherly love'."

The elucidation comes with a voice not quite as deep as Kitagawa's, veiled by that softness that only taciturn people own. Under a forest of black curls and behind thick glasses ash eyes gaze at the pink flowers with a glint of recognition. 

Another closed-eyed smile blooms on Kitagawa's face. Some girls not so quietly whisper their amazement towards his charm and Goro would somehow agree if the kōhai in front of him wasn't an unfathomable weirdo. 

"Ah, it's no wonder I felt some sort of bond with them." 

"Are you thinking about Sayuri?" the black-haired boy asks, lips slightly curved upwards. 

He knows those checkered uniform pants as much he knows the name of 'Sayuri' and relief floods in his chest, warms his throat. 

"Sayuri? As the famous painting of Madarame Ichiryusai's most talented pupil?"

Kitagawa's sketchbook closes with a flapping sound. "It's my mother's most precious memento, but I'm glad her feelings have reached the whole world." 

There is only longing and a deep fondness in those words. Kitagawa talks about something so disgustingly heart-wrenching with an honesty that has the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. He hates it. 

"You have my deepest thanks, Ren. I feel like this knowledge has further strengthened my bond with her." 

'Ren' offers Kitagawa a quiet nod and adjusts the bag on his shoulder. "I'm glad to hear that, Yusuke. A single flower can often convey feelings more than words." 

Goro fights the urge to scoff. "That's an interesting opinion but flower bouquets are, just like presents in general, nothing but a social and economic construct. People try to impress their significant others with something that can be easily reduced to a waste of money. After all, no matter how much one cares or tends for something so delicate, in the end they will wither and both parties will end up empty-handed."

"I guess you do have a point." Ren cocks his head to the side, grey irises mostly covered by the dark tufts of his fringe. "But don't you think they’re the same, in a way? Yes, a plant will eventually wither, but not the thoughts of who gifted it."

"The meaning of the flower?" 

"Every single flower has one. They help when a person can't find the right words." 

It's probably one of the most idealistic things he's ever heard and, while he sees a certain degree of truth in how actions speak louder than words, a simple and frail object like a flower definitely can't symbolize the bond between two people. 

"Then, if we follow your logic, just the act of drawing these azaleas should express Kitagawa-kun's longing for his late mother. But this fact itself proves to be meaningless since those feelings won't reach her anyway." 

"I think that what Ren meant to say is that what really holds importance is not the gift itself but the unspoken words it is bound to." Kitagawa's eyes trail along with the bush of pink flowers, smile soft, and Goro's stomach churns. He doesn't want to see this. "These Azaleas instinctively brought her to my mind and this sufficed to remind me of the love she gifted me with while she was still alive."

Goro swallows a bitter lump in his throat like a horrible-tasting medicine and smiles his brightest smile. He hates school trips. "I see. Then I'm glad for you, Kitagawa-kun, and we should both be thankful to your friend here for his elucidation."

Kitagawa replies with a solemn nod and clutches his sketchbook more decisively. People are so easy to manipulate that he feels some kind of pity for them. 

"Ah, Yusuke, if you come by Rafflesia next week I'll-" 

"RenRen!" A few meters away a blond boy with the same checkered trousers as 'Ren' waves his hand with the same gracefulness of a wild monkey. "We're moving!" 

"Oh, I have to go. See you next week, Yusuke." Ren nods with a hint of a smile. Ash eyes meet his. "It was nice to meet you." 

And Ren dashes away just to disappear into the red, black and white crowd that populates the bright scarlet torii. He turns around and Kitagawa, like some kind of dream-like illusion, is nowhere to be seen together with any kind of explanation regarding the flower boy. He takes his phone out of his uniform pocket. The display featuring his trademark “A.” reveals the motivation of Kitagawa’s sudden disappearance by signing 5 PM. 

He’ll need to run if he wants to reach their inn in time, he has a reputation to maintain. 

  
  


§

_Adonis - Sad memories._

_Warm sunlight filters through the white curtains to cast a golden path on the faded tatami. A gentle hand cards through his hair. He opens his eyes and the same russet irises as his own are half-closed into a smile directed at something next to him. He follows it to bright yellow petals around a brown core so similar to that of the gentle eyes that watch over him and a spontaneous question is born on his lips._

_“Why do you always smile when you look at the flowers?”_

_A chuckle as bright as sunlight, russet gazing at russet. “They’re the flowers Gocchan caught for me, so Mama is reminded of how much she is loved whenever she sees them.”_

_“Yes, I love mama very much!” He smiles back, so much that his cheeks hurt._

_Another caress through his hair. “They look like the sun, don’t you think?”_

_“So this makes me mama’s sun?”_

_“Yes.” A whisper, warm lips on his forehead. “Gocchan is my little sunshine.” A knock on the door, the smile turns into a thin line and the sunlight fades._

_“One of mama’s friends is here. Why don’t you go to the baths? I’ll make curry when you come back.”_

_He nods vigorously. He wants to see a smile bloom on her face just like a flower does under the sun._

_They will be alright._

The room is dark. His breath escapes in quick, short gasps, eyes wide and fixed on the wooden ceiling of his ryōkan room. The futon next to his own is empty and he silently thanks his roommate’s girlfriend for detaining the latter with delectable activities that keep him away from where he is supposed to be. School trips have their advantages, it seems.

The numbers on his phone’s screen announce that it’s past 3 AM and there’s no way he’ll resume his sleep, not when he’s so drenched in cold sweat that his pajamas stick to his skin, not after seeing images that squeeze the air out of his lungs with their vice-like hold on his feelings. He doesn’t want to forget or run away from pain but he won’t bend himself to something as low as wallowing in self-pity.

He kicks away the comforter and gets up to retrieve the yukata the inn supplied them with. It’s so late that the teachers should be fast asleep, but he’s confident he can come up with a more than credible excuse if they spot him around the baths. The hallway is deserted but the faint sound of male voices from around the corner is a clear signal of how his route won’t be devoid of nuisances. 

  
“What? Koizumi has been rejected? Isn’t he one of the most popular guys in the second year?”  
  
“Yeah, Shirotani’s girlfriend broke up with him last semester ‘cause she wanted to confess to him.”  
  
“And you know who rejected him? Togo Hifumi.”

"You mean that hottie who's good at shogi?" 

"Yup. It's crazy, right? Other girls would literally throw themselves in Koizumi's arms but Togo just told him she's not interested." 

"Heh, you know what? I'm not really surprised. I mean, she's so frigid that she'll probably break if she spread her legs for someone."

A chorus of laughter rises from the three boys. He clenches his fists and inhales until his lungs are full of air just to turn around the corner with his most cordial smile. 

"Good evening, Kurosaki, Tachibana and Serinuma."

"Shit, it's Akechi…"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't report you to the teachers for being out of your rooms past curfew but if I can dare and say it, you should pay more attention to the… epithets you use when you talk about someone."

Tachibana scoffs. "What, now you're Togo's prince as well? Being the teachers' pet wasn't enough?" 

"And what if _we_ tell the teachers you were up this late?"

"Well, Kurosaki,” he smiles, a single finger lifted. "It's my word against yours, in that case. But given how all of you are familiar with detention the odds aren't really in your favor." 

He opens the shoji that separate the hallway from the male baths but no answer comes from the three boys. "Oh, and about Togo-san. Calling her 'frigid' won't make her magically, er, how was it? 'spread her legs' for you. Have a pleasant night."

The sliding doors click behind him and the warm and humid air of the changing room pleasantly envelops him. A sound halfway between a sigh and a growl escapes his throat, but losing his cool won't bring him any advantage, so he hastily discards his yukata and underwear in favor of quick but hot shower.

_You little bastard… Don't you understand? If your mother hadn't spread her legs like the whore she was for that good for nothing man you wouldn't even be here._

_Apparently his mother worked as a call girl… Growing a child with a different man visiting the house every day, how pitiful…_

_Why did you accept to take him in? Even if she was your relative to me he's nothing but the son of a slut!_

He wishes for the flow of the warm water of the basin to wash away the unpleasant memories but to no avail. 

"If she doesn't spread her legs she's frigid and if she does she's a whore…" he tells to the steam that rises from the bath. Above him, the stars shine brightly in the dark night sky and he feels like venting his rage to water's quiet swash. His fist clenches once again. "Damn pricks… acting like everything is owed to them, even one's dignity…" 

"It's ironic, don't you think? Dignity should be one of those things man shouldn't trample on, and yet…" 

The voice is quiet, it bears no hint of teasing, and he wonders if the hot water lowered his blood pressure to the point of making him hallucinate things. But of course it's something impossible, rationally speaking, because he's not dizzy in the slightest and he's pretty sure he's heard that voice before. 

"Sorry, I swear I'm not a ghost," the cloud of steam says with mild amusement.

And the cloud, in fact, isn’t a cloud but a boy in flesh and bones, with curly black hair that even water doesn’t seem to be able to tame, ash eyes and a piece of knowledge about him that holds the potential to destroy his carefully crafted image.  
  
“Ah, good evening. Fancy meeting you here of all places, it almost seems like fate.”  
  
“I imagined there was a possibility of bumping into you when I spotted Yusuke and Togo Hifumi in the dining hall.”  
  
He lets out a pleasant chuckle. The slight panic of realizing that someone was actually listening subsides, replaced by the peculiar feeling of reassurement the possesses him whenever someone falls for his pretense.  
  
“Well, it seems our paths have crossed again and that we’re quite lucky since this lovely weather is perfect for a nightly open-air bath.”  
  
“Tonight’s sky is wonderful.” The flower boy peeks with intent at the stars, a creature whose blacks and whites belong with the night. “And that was why I was wondering why you looked so angry a moment ago.” 

Shit. 

"Ah, some of my schoolmates said something that left me a tad perplexed, nothing serious."

Ash eyes meet his own with curiosity. "You shouldn't force yourself to be nice when you really don't wanna be."

"Oh, but I don't see the point of replying harshly over trivial things."

"Well, it wasn't trivial if it makes you so angry." The boy smiles. "And just so we're clear, I don't see anything wrong with being angry. It doesn't make one less likable."

"I highly doubt that people who often and openly express anger or disappointment are wanted around. We live in a society based on appearances, after all." 

"A society based on appearances…" A frown. "Don't you think it's better having people around who like your real self rather than people who are just into the image of yourself you want to project?"

Something within him snaps. He's been laid bare with infuriating simplicity, and no matter what he says, the boy in front of him looks determined not to avert his eyes from the ugly truth. His feet dip into the warm bath and he lets out a frustrated sigh. 

"It's pointless. People are just too lazy to scratch anything but the surface of a person. So it's fine like this, even though I doubt anyone would believe you if you told them about me." 

A crystalline laugh spreads in the warm September air. “Showing your true self to the world… that's something that's only up to you, I think. So… " A hand is extended to him. "I'm Amamiya Ren, a second-year at Shujin Academy." 

A defeated sigh and a handshake. "Akechi Goro, third year at Kōsei High."

"So, Akechi-senpai. What made you so angry?" 

"No need to call me 'senpai', we don't even attend the same school,'' he clarifies in a dry tone. The warm water grazes his chin. "Some underclassmen were making comments that harmed the dignity of Togo-san behind her back."

"Togo-san sure is popular, huh? Though she isn't very happy about her fame…"

"Are you acquainted with her?" 

"Kinda. We often bump into each other at a bookstore in Jinbōchō and she looks so distressed when someone recognizes her."

"I see." He gathers his thoughts in silence. "These people just don't seem to accept rejection and feel the need to diminish Togo-san's value to feed their fragile egos. She is a very distinct person so her lack of interest towards men that just see her as an object of their sexual fantasies doesn't surprise me."

"You have a rather good opinion of her,” Ren points out with a hint of surprise in his voice. 

Goro nods and looks up at the sky. "That said, I felt a little compelled to say a couple of things to those guys."

"And so you called them 'pricks'?" Ren chuckles. 

"Of course not. I wouldn't say something so vulgar in front of them and it would have been a waste of breath anyway."

"Those who are in the wrong can be so self-righteous and in the end, they’re the ones who end up being victorious,” Ren says in a light tone and stretches with a slosh of water. Beneath the moonlight his eyes are empty. “But still, it’s a shame. I would have paid big money to see their faces at you calling them pricks.”

“Well, if you give me 100.000 Yen I can give it some thought,'' he deadpanned.  
  
“Cash or card?” 

A grin. “Rigorously cash.”  
  
  


§

_Godetia - Your witty conversation delights me._

_  
_ _  
_ _‘_ Art is a mirror of the human soul’, he once heard, and something as obscure and intricate as the core of a living and thinking being isn’t so easy to comprehend. He often wonders how many, in the hordes of people that visit art exhibits, can actually grasp even a fragment of the artists’ soul. He’s not so conceited to deem himself sensitive enough to comprehend, but he often imagines himself becoming a piece of the painting and feeling the images like they’re his own.

And in a crowd of melancholic oranges and yellows or bright reds and blues, he’s unavoidably attracted by the soft pink of a wall of azaleas and the austere black and white of the Tenryu-ji temple, a scene that he has lived, but seen from the eyes of another person. Two figures smile at each other like they’re sharing a secret that only the flowers can know other than them.

“It’s just a social construct…” he mumbles to himself, but the voice that comes out is not only his own.  
  
He slowly turns around and meets a pair of black-rimmed glasses and the vaguely shocked grey eyes behind them. Amamiya Ren – severely underdressed for the occasion in his plain jeans, shirt and t-shirt – blinks a few times and opens his mouth to formulate what Goro hopes is a valid explanation, because he can’t think of a single reason why someone like him would join such a mundane event.  
  
“Oh, Ren, Akechi-senpai. I’m glad you both accepted my invitation.” Kitagawa - with a multicolored scarf of dubious fashion wrapped loosely around his neck - offers them a closed-eyed smile.  
  
“Good evening, Kitagawa. I’m the one who should thank you by any means for the ticket you provided me with.”  
  
“Oh, no, not at all!” Kitagawa’s voice takes an ecstatic note. “The fateful encounter between you two in Kyoto has ignited my inspiration and led me to produce this piece. As much as it doesn’t compare to sensei’s marvelous—”  
  
“I think it’s wonderful, Yusuke. For a moment I felt like I was in Kyoto again.” Ren’s smile is genuine, a slight curving of lips that lights a spark in his unusual eyes and gives off a completely different image of his face.  
  
“Yusuke is very talented, isn’t he?” a crinkly voice says from behind their backs. “Modesty is a wonderful quality for an artist, as there is always room for improvement, but that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t appreciate the results of hard work. Be proud, Yusuke.”  
  
Kitagawa turns around in a brusque gesture and his lower lip quivers ever-so-slightly. “Sensei, I—”  
  
Madarame Ichiryusai pats Kitagawa’s back with a kind smile, the smile of a proud father reserved for his son only that twists Goro’s guts unpleasantly.  
  
“Kitagawa-kun’s art is vivid and fervent, a true pleasure for the eye, indeed.”  
  
“You have my sincerest gratitude for watching over Yusuke. I’m glad he has friends he can count on.”  
  
He wears his best smile. It’s easy. So, so, easy. “I’m the one who’s grateful for Kitagawa-kun’s friendship. And I’m sure that applies to Amamiya-kun here.”  
  
Ren shoots him a side glance that makes him grit his teeth but nods politely, the portrait of innocence on the face of a high schooler.

“Ah, sensei, Kitagawa-san.” A man in a black suit approaches them with an expressionless face. “There’s a certain Kawanabe Akiko that claims to be an acquaintance of yours and wishes to meet both of you.”

Madarame’s face lights up in delighted enthusiasm. “So Akiko-san managed to visit us it seems!”  
  
“So it seems, sensei,” Yusuke nods with fondness in his eyes.  
  
“I beg you to forgive us, but an old friend of mine requires our presence. It was a pleasure meeting you,” the painter says with a smile just to turn again towards the security agent. “Bring us to him, please.”  
  
Kitagawa flourishes into a slight bow and follows the man among the crowd that populates the museum, the title “Madarame Ichiryusai art school exposition” emblazoned in bold letters on a banner hanging from the ceiling as the perfect frame for their duo. 

“Look who the cat dragged in. We always meet in the most unexpected ways, don’t you think, Amamiya-kun?”

Ren crosses his arms and opens into a cheeky smile, the meek and silent student of a few moments before nowhere to be seen. “Well, I remember you calling it ‘fate’, so that must be it, Akechi-san.”

“Aren’t you a bit too old to indulge into chuuni fantasies?"  
  
“I could ask you the same thing and besides, I didn’t know you and Yusuke were friends.”  
  
“It appears that Kitagawa sees me that way and as long as it doesn’t become a bother I’m fine with it.” A smirk stirs on his lips. “Lately I happened to cross paths with weirdos more often than I expected.”  
  
Ren’s lips quirk up together with his eyebrows, the boy seemingly not offended in the slightest by his statement. “So I’m weird enough to be compared to Yusuke. You flatter me.”  
  
“A weirdo _and_ an idiot, I see. You never cease to surprise me, Amamiya-kun.”  
  
“If you keep flattering me I’ll have to invite you to a coffee, Akechi-san.”  
  
His eyes widen slightly and he just doesn't understand. He's good at making people take a liking to him, want him around. He's spent his whole life carefully crafting a personality for that very purpose, holding onto the conviction that no one would appreciate the sharp edges of his personality… just to run into someone that doesn't seem to care one bit about the artificial part of himself. 

"Well, I'm in a severe state of lack of sleep, so I might take you up on that offer."

The smile on Ren's face brightens like sunlight on water, both clear and blinding. "I'll make you taste real coffee."

And it's a horrible idea giving in to him, something utterly deleterious, but he really needs that coffee, he needs to wash away that gentle voice and warm smile that populate his dreams and seep into the depths of his weakened mind. 

"Don't get all cocky, I won't accept anything mediocre."

"Oh, you won't be disappointed."

§

_Yellow Hyacinth - Jealousy_

The wooden and glass door opens with a familiar jingle. A familiar aroma of arabica and spices wafts from the tiny kitchen and fills the air together with the quiet humming of a news program on the old CRT. Leblanc has a distinctly retro feeling with its wooden furniture and consumed leather seats, but its atmosphere - favored by an unfair but appreciated lack of customers - relaxes him in an odd way. 

"Ah, welcome, kid. Nice to see ya."

"Good morning, Sakura-san." He flourishes into a slight bow and settles in his usual seat by the counter with a smile. 

There's no one in the kitchen aside from Sakura Sōjiro and the strangely talkative black and white cat the café hosts. 

"He's upstairs, probably sleeping," the man says with a smile.

Goro blinks and opens his mouth to explain that he's there just for the unusual yet excellent combination of curry and coffee that characterizes the small café but Sakura just shakes his head like he doesn't need to hear that. 

"I'll go call him. These days rain's been keeping all the customers away, so I gave him the day off."

And without further ado, Sakura Sōjiro approaches the set of wooden stairs that leads to the attic and calls: "Hey, kid! Your friend's here."

No answer comes from upstairs but the man just looks at the cat with a sigh that makes him wonder if he's actually used to this charade. 

"Go wake him up, Mona."

The cat meows as he's perfectly understood what Sakura-san said and stretches in a way that reminds him of Ren just to jump gracefully onto the steps. 

"I didn't make Amamiya-kun as the lazy type."

The man smirks with a scoff but he's betrayed by the fondness in his eyes. "You should know him by now. He's a busy kid, so much that sometimes I wonder if he actually sleeps during the night."

"You seem to like him quite a bit." The sentence comes out with far less bitterness than he expected, the harsh and ashaming feeling of envy suppressed by a sense of longing. 

Sakura Sōjiro shoots him a suggestive glance. "Well, I'm not the only one who does."

A yowl and several meowing sounds break the silence that comes from the attic, followed by a lazy thumping coming closer. With Morgana clawing at his shoulder, Ren descends with heavy feet and askew glasses. 

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Sakura-san greets with a smirk. 

"Good morning, Amamiya. I hope I'm not coming as a nuisance to your beauty nap."

"Ah, Akechi," Ren mumbles with sleep still sticking to his voice. "Sorry, overslept."

"He can see that, moron. The rain has let up early this morning, so you can at least go somewhere nice with your friend instead of spending the Sunday sleeping."

There really is something cat-like in the way Ren stretches his arms above his head and makes his bones pop with a pleased sound that has Sakura-san shaking his head with an exasperated smile. 

“Have you ever been to the Sendagaya side of the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden?” Ren asks him as if the question is completely coherent with the conversation they were having. 

He quirks his brow in a silent question. Sometimes he wonders why they keep sticking with each other.

Ren shrugs, his face blank. They’re certainly both talented at wearing masks. “There’s something I want you to see, there.”

His mouth opens to kindly ask Ren to stop acting like the dubious tarot reader in Kabukicho that keeps flirting with both of them, but a cough stops him from initiating one of their usual banters.

“Here, coffee for both of you,” Sōjiro grumbles in sliding two ceramic cups on the wooden counter. “The shop’s gonna be empty today as well, so it’s on the house.” 

Goro gently holds the cup in his hands and brings it to his lips. The rich and familiar aroma of Leblanc’s trademark blend wafts from the dark liquid, accompanied by its reinvigorating bitterness, an addiction he’s not ashamed to call his guilty pleasure.

“Thank you, Sakura-san." He smiles to the man behind the counter. “It’s delicious as always.”

Ren savors his coffee in silence, eyes closed and brows slightly furrowed. He’s so serious when it comes to grasping the secrets of Sakura-san’s curry and coffee that it makes him want to tease him, to break his concentration and please that deep, ugly part of him that demands all of the attention of those ash eyes.  
  
The door opens with a jingle.  
  
“Uhm… Pardon the intrusion but… Is Amamiya-senpai he- Eh? Akechi-san?”  
  
A polite smile stretches on his lips as a reflex. “Good morning, Yoshizawa-san. I didn’t know you were a customer of this place as well.”  
  
“Ah, Yoshizawa, hello.” The smile on Ren’s face is kind and warm, soft as his gaze. “Is there something you need?”  
  
Yoshizawa Kasumi shuffles her feet, gaze on the floor and cheeks red, and something claws at his lungs and knots his stomach, so much that it’s hard to breathe for how nauseated he is. 

“No… Uhm… I just wanted to ask if…” Yoshizawa looks at him with clear discomfort and fiddles with the ends of her frilly camisole just to squeeze her eyes and gaze at Ren once again. “I-I just wanted to ask if senpai wants to go s-shopping with me.”

Ren tilts his head to the side. “For that formal dinner you talked about?”  
  
“Y-yes.” A trembling nod, crimson ears and cheeks. “Since senpai has been so kind to accept my invitation I thought we could choose our outfits together.”  
  
Something rises from the depths of his chest and fills his throat, cool, faintly sweet, a stark contrast with the bitterness in his mouth. He forces the air out of his lungs.  
  
“It seems my presence is inconveniencing Yoshizawa-san, so I’ll excuse myself to the toilet.”  
  
He doesn’t breathe in the short distance that separates the counter from his destination or when his trembling hands open the wooden door just to close it behind his back. He leans over the toilet. Dark spots fill his vision and mouth opens with a hissing breath, but nothing comes out of it, just a silent cough that violently shakes his chest and makes burning tears stem from the corners of his eyes.

A warm smile flashes in his mind, accompanied by soft grey eyes shadowed by long lashes. It’s something that he’s never seen on his face before, something completely different from the slight quirking up of lips and glinting of steel irises he’s used to. A spasm. A fluttering feeling on his tongue.

Through the blur that is his vision, a single, long bright yellow petal rests on the water’s surface.  
  


§  
  


_Hollyhock - Consumed by love._

_The sunlight had faded._

_Her face is pale like the moon._

_She lies in her futon, her long chestnut hair like a halo on the pillow and a weak smile on her white and red lips. Like a fairytale princess she sleeps motionless in a garden of crimson flowers, surrounded by petals on the faded tatami._ _  
_ _  
_ _She’s waiting for the prince to save her with a kiss._

_But even if he kisses her face through tears, he knows she won’t wake up ever again._

_§  
  
_

_Daisy - I’ll never tell._

_  
_ _  
_ “You said we were going through the Sendagaya side of the park, so why in the world did we stop at Shinjuku?”  
  
“I changed my mind about what I wanted you to see.” Ren shrugs and puts two 100 yen coins into a slot in the gate. “You looked pretty shocked when you came out of the toilet, so I thought about something different.”  
  
He scoffs. He hates it when Ren can see through him so clearly. “I was just surprised to find out that a moron like you is so close to Yoshizawa Kasumi. But I guess that was to be expected by a skirt chaser. ”  
  
“Hey, I was confessed to, not the other way. And besides, I rejected both of them.”  
  
“Of course, a perfect person like you wouldn’t just break Yoshizawa’s pure maiden heart.” This time his voice comes out as bitter as he intended, ready to sting Ren’s pride. “So. When’s the great event?” 

“You mean the dinner?” The wind whistles among the dark tree and brings with it the earthy smell of soil. Menacing gray clouds move lazily in the vast azure sky. “On Christmas Eve.”

Something bubbles up from the depths of his chest and stops him dead in his tracks. Ren turns around with a curious look in his eyes. He laughs, both bitter and bright, because it all makes sense, so much that he can’t stop himself from sounding like he’s gone completely out of his mind. 

“I see.” Another laugh. “You really… you really don’t understand, don’t you?”  
  
“What is there to understand?”  
  
The laugh subsides with a cough. He brings a hand to his mouth and peeks at the small white petals in it just to stuff it into the pocket of his tan coat. It’s so hopeless that it sounds somewhat poetic. 

“Your dinner is on the 24th but Yoshizawa asks you to go shopping for it in the middle of October.”

Ren quirks his brow up. “And?”  
  
“Yoshizawa just wanted an excuse to go on a date, you imbecile.” He catches up to him, the deep grey shoreline of a lake visible in the distance. “Well, it’s not like it’s my business anyway.”  
  
Ren kicks a small brown rock on the path and sends it rolling onward. “... I figured that much, but I think Yoshizawa needs to wind down a bit. She looks like the approaching selections for the national Gymnastics championship are taking a toll on her, so…” 

“So you just wanted to help her.”

A silent nod. The wind picks up again, fills the heavy calm that has settled between them. Something cold hits his cheek.  
  
“... Ren.” 

His voice is stern, the name an unfamiliar weight on his tongue. A name that holds both the fragility and stubbornness of the lotus flower, that rises from the muddy depths of a pond towards the vast infinity of the sky. 

“Did you change your mind about entering from Sendagaya because of the garden of Azaleas?"

“... So you noticed.”  
  
“I’ve been living in Tokyo for a while longer than you, I actually know this place fairly well.”  
  
“That time in Kyoto… You looked like you had swallowed a whole bottle of sulfuric acid when I told Yusuke about the flowers.”  
  
It’s so like Ren to be considerate of others to the point of noticing even the smallest details about a stranger. Perfect, kind Ren who prefers his harsh and honest personality over his brilliant and polite facade; Ren who postpones a date with a girl that is head over heels in love with him just not to take back his invitation to the park. 

“I guess that it’s useless holding back at this point.” The deep grey surface of the Upper Pond is completely still, so much that the lapping of the water against the wooden path is barely audible. “I’ve already told you that I don’t have a family. While my biological father is in his well-deserved place in jail thanks to prosecutor Niijima Sae, my mother died a few years ago. They never married and she raised me all by herself until the illness reclaimed her life.”

Ash eyes go wide and Goro smiles bitterly.  
  
“Did she…”  
  
“Yes, Hanahaki. She refused to get the surgery and died in a bed of hollyhocks, so I guess you could say I’m not particularly fond of flowers.”  
  
“Hollyhocks… ‘Consumed by love’...” Ren murmurs, lips in a straight, thin line.  
  
“Quite the irony, don’t you think?” 

“Goro, I —”  
  
“Spare me the pity, I don’t need it.” Small, concentric circles punctuate the water’s surface. He spins on his heels. “The rain is picking up, we better hurry.”  
  
With ample and brisk steps he walks towards the path that leads to the Shinjuku gate of the park in a wind that makes cold droplets of water lash against his face. He’s glad he didn’t get to see the Azalea hill.  
  
“Goro!” Ren’s already damp hair frame his pale face, the glasses gone. He’s never heard him so altered.  
  
He turns around, jaw clenched and eyes unflinching. “What.”  
  
The rain falls down in a violent and deafening flow that drowns everything on its path and sticks cold clothes to his skin. It has the same color as the irises that gaze straight in his own. The freedom of Ren’s heart reflects in the earnestness he pours in everything he does and Goro can’t help but love him, because, despite the roots, stems, and thorns that chain around his heart, being with him makes him feel free as well.

Ren shakes his head with a sigh. “... nevermind. We’re soaked to the bone, let’s go back.”

  
  


§  
  
  


_Thorny Rose - Pleasure and Pain._

“... ds these days… a fever… rain. No… no parents… yeah… I’ll take care of him…go out… medicine”  
  
The distant echo of a familiar voice fades away with a thumping sound. The jingle of a bell. Is it a fūrin? It’s hot, but somehow it doesn’t feel like summer. Everything aches, is he going to lose all of his limbs? There’s a constant pounding in his head and he can’t really open his eyes.  
  
“...Goro?” 

The sound of his name is soothing, like a caress from his mother, yet painful. It stirs something in his chest that makes him feel like crying. Gray and black like the night sky. He knows these eyes like stardust, he loves them, he loves every single bit of him.

“... Sorry, Goro.”

“For what?”  
  
“Y’know… everything…”  
  
He shakes his head and regrets it immediately. It hurts so much. Ren’s irises have specks of black, his lashes caress his cheeks with every movement. They’re like a girl’s. His cheeks are pink, his lips are pinker. A hand caresses his cheek and it’s so soft and warm that it gives him goosebumps. No one has ever touched him with so much gentleness.  
  
No one but her.  
  
“Ren... “ he whimpers. The name is the air he breathes. 

And Ren kisses him ever so gently, warm as sunlight in the middle of the rain, and Goro melts in it, ignores the pain blooming in his chest.

There’s only Ren. Ren’s skin, Ren’s hands, Ren’s lips, Ren’s tongue. 

Ren, Ren, Ren. 

Pooling warmth, fingers intertwining. "Goro…" A moan, skin against skin. "... ove you." Hands moving, wet sounds. He doesn't want to forget. 

"It’s always been…" Waves of pleasure, crushing pain. 

"... you." Limbs tangling, bodies collapsing. A kiss in his hair. "It's always been you." 

Darkness. 

§

_Daffodil - Unrequited love._

**_Ren:_ ** _Are you free on Saturday afternoon?_

 **_Goro_ ** _: If your intention is to make me lose more school days with another cold or flu, then no._

 **_Ren_ ** _: No outdoors activities, I swear_

 **_Ren:_ ** _But my class needs help with the school festival_

 **_Goro:_ ** _I don't see a connection between me and your school festival._

 **_Ren:_ ** _My class hosts a maid café_

 **_Ren:_ ** _But our PE teacher is a prick and spread fake news about it_

 **_Goro:_ ** _I still don't see how my presence is necessary._

 **_Ren:_ ** _There's a competition for the class that gets the highest income_

 **_Ren:_ ** _We have to win, it's a matter of principle_

 **_Ren:_ ** _And you're super popular even here, so people would definitely come if you recommended our café_

 **_Goro_ ** _: You want me to advertise your café, I see._

 **_Ren:_ ** _I'll give you the prize of the competition if we win_

 **_Ren:_ ** _No one in our class wants it anyway_

 **_Goro:_ ** _Prize?_

 **_Ren:_ ** _Tickets for Lyn's Christmas concert at the Jazz Club in Kichijōji._

 **_Goro:_ ** _... Lyn as in 'Inaizumi Lyn', the jazz singer?_

 **_Ren:_ ** _Yup._

 **_Goro:_ ** _Fine, I'll help._

 **_Goro:_ ** _But I won't wear any ridiculous costumes._

 **_Ren:_ ** _No costumes, just eating_

§

"You didn't mention any blindfolds." 

"Don't worry, you just have to recognize what the customers feed you with." Ren waves the hand holding a black cloth dismissively. "You have the reputation of a Gorourmet, after all."

His brow shots up at the cheesy pun. Sometimes Ren is such an idiot that he wonders how girls can actually like him this much. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head in resignment. “Whatever.”

"You’re doing this for the greater good, _Akechi-san._ I heard that the tickets for the concert are already sold-out even if there still two months before the actual show. The Jazz Club isn’t that big of a place, after all…” 

“Ugh. Fine. I’ve already told you I would help, so let’s get this over with.”

Ren shoots him a wink and bends in a courteous bow. The black gilet of his butler uniform highlights the curve of his thin waist and reveals an unsuspectedly athletic torso just to elicit appreciative murmurs from the girls sitting at each of the tiny tables in the class. “You have my deepest gratitude, master.”

Something familiar burns within him, an ache that’s different from the one that announces one of his coughing fits and that fills him with both a sense of longing and desperation. It’s the misery for something he can’t have, the _Sehnsucht_ many artists wallowed in, but at the same time, it’s the missing of a piece, like a memory time has whitened. He wonders if this is the seed that holds within itself the flowers of Hanahaki.

“Gentle masters and mistresses, we bid you our warmest welcome to Le cafè du fantôm.” Ren’s voice is soft but clear, enticing enough to catalyze the attention of everyone’s in the room and he’s different, a new Ren that he’s never seen, perfectly at ease in his new act. “Today we have the honor to host Kosei High’s Prince, the aspiring detective Akechi Goro. Akechi-san has kindly accepted to take part in our special Gourmet Challenge, so I beg you to welcome him with warm applause.”

A smile settles easy and practiced on his lips at the enthusiasm of the crowd. “Thank you, Amamiya-kun. It’s my pleasure and honor being a guest of this lovely cafè and I hope not to disappoint."

"And now, the rules of the challenge." As if on a cue, a blond girl in twin-tails and a frilly red maid uniform walks at the center of with a small cart. "Under this cloth there are 5 different ingredients that Akechi-san, while blindfolded, will taste… by your hand." 

Excited murmurings, gazes alight with interest. It's somewhat degrading how easily people tend to appreciate someone recognizable. It should please his selfish need for appreciation, the bastard son his family paid not to have around now loved by everyone. And yet what he feels is hollow, just the lingering phantom of the happiness he thought he would attain. Meeting Ren has been his demise. 

"Akechi-san will try to guess the ingredient and live up to his reputation as a gourmet. You can make a reservation by raising your hand when an ingredient is shown." Ren turned towards him and dangled the blindfold with the hint of a smile. "Are you ready, Akechi-san?" 

"Of course." He flashed a smile towards the customers. "I'll be in your care."

The first ingredient is familiar, fed with a slightly trembling hand. It's hot, rich and slightly bitter and he wouldn't be worthy of being one of Leblanc's regulars if he didn't recognize the unique flavor of the Blue Mountain breed of coffee. 

The second is exotic and slightly sweet, with a fresh smell. He's tasted enough weird delicacies to tell with confidence, among clapping hands and awed sounds, that that's the peculiar flavor of maracuja. 

Then it's something salty, somewhat grainy on his tongue but crunchy under his teeth. He can imagine Kitagawa's pleased expression as he recognizes a jagariko.

The fourth ingredient is both sour and sweet, a unique flavor that reminds him of his childhood, when his life still had a resemblance of normality. Honey lemons, a simple snack his mother prepared to cheer for him when he had something important coming up at school. He wonders if somehow Ren knows about it, or if it’s just one of the many ironic coincidences in his life.

The last trial is the most difficult. It’s something fresh and somewhat juicy, with an intense smell he’s not particularly acquainted with. He chews slowly in an attempt to recall the name of the ingredient.  
  
“Hey, isn’t the girl that has just fed him Yoshizawa?”  
  
“Huh? You’re right, but isn’t she a first-year? What is she doing here?”  
  
“She entered a few minutes ago and I saw her talking to Amamiya. Maybe she’s here to help?”

“Do you think they’re dating?”

“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. They’re often together during lunch break or on the road to school.”  
  
“I know, right? They look cute together, their outfits are even matching!”  
  
He swallows the foreign ingredient and freezes at the stinging sensation in his throat.  
  
“Oooh, look! Amamiya-kun is smiling at her!”  
  
“It’s the first time I see him smiling. He’s really handsome, now that I look better at him.”  
  
The ginger strings his tongue and throat and its name escapes from his lips with a coughing fit that squeezes the air away from his lungs and bends him to its inevitability. His limbs don’t respond to the information the brain inputs but a warm hand wraps around his own and yanks him away. He can feel them rising from his trachea and purses his lips so hard that the muscles of his jaw ache. Light and color return to his tears-blurred vision and through the mess he recognizes Ren’s concerned stare, the hand on his bare wrist that burns with scorching heat.

Another cough. Like raindrops of sunshine, large yellow petals fall on the floor under the terrified realization of ash eyes.

§  
  


The bonfire crackles with an orange light through the night. Couples of students wearing Shujin’s red, black and white uniform dance with gleeful smiles at the sound of a traditional song. 

He’s never been the type that likes this kind of old fashioned stuff. 

He leans against the wall with a sigh to revel in the darkness, away from the whispers and flirtatious smiles of his admirers.

“You look awfully grumpy for being someone who got a couple of tickets for one of the most exclusive musical events of the year.”  
  
Goro closes his eyes with a scoff. “I was just pondering about getting a partner for the concert.”

“How about Togo-san?”

  
He shakes his head with a bitter smile, eyes focused on the dancing flames. “It’s no use. And besides, Lyn’s music is better if enjoyed alone, without distractions.”  
  
“So it’s Togo-san, huh?” A rustling of fabric, a slight vibration through the wall. “You should have told me. You know I would have helped you.”  
  
The genuine care and sadness in the way Ren speaks are a sting that pierces right through his heart. A cough, yellow petals in his hand. What a miserable end for the infamous second coming of the Detective Prince. A miserable end for a miserable faker.  
  
“Goro, look at me.”  
  
There’s a plea in Ren’s voice and eyes.  
  
“I don’t want you to die for something like this. Get surgery, I know a doctor that could-”  
  
Nails dig into his palms with the clenching of his fists. A whistle, colors bloom into the dark sky.  
  
“I don’t need your pity.”

§

“ _We’re witnessing an unexpected cold wave on this Christmas Eve in Tokyo. Snow has been falling since the first hours of the afternoon, granting to all the lovers going out to celebrate a textbook example of White Christmas. The authorities recommend-_

 _“Kichijoji. Station of Kichijoji._ ”  
  
The doors of the train open with a soft sound, followed by the tapping of a multitude of feets. Despite the late hour the station is still bustling with people. It’s unsurprising, given how many popular places Kichijoji hosts, but also somewhat frustrating with all the couples exchanging sickeningly sweet looks and holding hands. 

He’s always been a loner. He knows the exact science that hides behind the concept of popularity and can practice it with a complete lack of effort, but it just feels hollow. People sometimes recognize him when he walks through the streets, many of his peers fight to gain his attention and he’s just eager to please, to offer bright smiles and polite words while his hands remain empty. And he’s never really considered it a problem, the emptiness never hurt… until he met Ren. 

The tickets in the pocket of his coat weigh like the the singularity of a black hole, a condensation of unspoken feelings and bitterness and all that comes with it in a thin layer of paper. Maybe it’s the stupid flowers blooming in his chest or maybe he’s just become a weakling, but everything suddenly feels pointless if he’s alone. 

A poster with the cover of Lyn's latest album hangs on the wall next to the entrance of the club. It's simple, a vintage microphone in the background and a chessboard on an old wooden table. There are no human figures in the picture, just a black and a white king pieces facing each other, the words "It's always been you" in a neat cursive over them. 

_"Goro… It's always been you."_

A flash of ash irises and warm lips. A voice sweeter than honey. 

His chest shakes in a violent cough and a bunch of tiny green leaves falls in his hands. The small alley is deserted, the footprints on fresh snow the only trace of human presence. 

The images in his mind are blurry, something he recalls from the hazy moments of the fever he and Ren shared. It's like watching the damaged photograms of a movie he's already seen. 

He swallows the urge to puke. 

They were delirious. It was just a temporary and reckless abandon to their most basic urges, an outburst of hormones with no feelings involved. 

He just has to forget. 

§

  
The Jazz club is warm and cozy, only lit by the soft lights of the stage and the candles lit on each of the small, round tables. 

His seat is placed in the farthest corner of the room. Lyn, dazzlingly beautiful in her red dress, bows to the public with a bright smile just to be showered with applauses. She approaches the microphone with a clacking of heels and a soft melody starts to play. 

_"People come and they go. Some people may stay with you though..."_

It's one of her less-known pieces but one of his personal favorites, a simple story that strikes a chord deep into his soul and fills the emptiness with some sort of acceptance. 

_"I am all alone tonight and I kept on asking myself questions."_

Lyn's voice soothes him like a medicine. He's glad that he got to hear her live, it's one less regret to leave behind when he'll run out of time. 

_"But tonight got me thinking about it all, if I am the fool or whatnot."_

"Please, tell me that I'm not too late."

He blinks several times at the familiar voice and Ren is there, sitting in front of him, white snowflakes in his dark hair and a grey coat over a black turtleneck. 

"You… How did you…"

A ticket identical to the one in his pocket waves right in front of him. "Seems like I have a talent for pickpocketing. You should be more careful with your belongings." 

"... Weren't you supposed to be at dinner with Yoshizawa and her family?" 

Ren tortures his fringe. Without glasses his eyes gleam like quicksilver at the warm light of the candle. "I just… well, sorted my priorities."

"I've already told you that I don't need your pity. Do you think I'd be happy seeing you suffer for me?" 

"I'm here because I want to, not for a matter of pity." Pale hands grip the table, knuckles white. It fills him with both selfish happiness and dread seeing Ren get so emotional for him.

His eyes widen and the sight of Ren, glistening eyes and red cheeks red, is too much to bear. The flame flickers just to burn with more intensity. "... Ren. Let's forget about what happened when we had a fever. We weren't in ourselves anyway."

"I don't want to."

_"My story will be starring me just like yours…"_

"Goro. I did what I did because I wanted it for so long. I wanted to explain that, but ever since the festival you did nothing but avoid me.”

“That’s because you obviously like Yoshiz-”

A hand pulls his sweater and yanks him forward. Ren’s lips are warm, unbearably so, but there’s no fever, no flowers crushing his lungs to remind him that, just like everything in his life, love is excruciatingly painful. The hand lets go and with it, Goro exhales a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. Ren’s eyes are gentle, just like the way he kissed him for the first time.

"This has never been about Yoshizawa, but about _you_ . It's always been you." 

  
_“What matters most is how you bring joy to life, so…”_

  
  
_Mistletoe - I want to kiss you._

  
  


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